


You were knocking me down with the palm of your eye

by RemainNameless



Series: Starts with "F", Ends with "U" [11]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Body Worship, Consensual Sex, Explicit Consent, Feels, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-24
Updated: 2013-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-30 07:57:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1016082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RemainNameless/pseuds/RemainNameless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>part eleven after "You hollow out my hungry eyes"</p><p>When Derek comes home, Stiles finds him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You were knocking me down with the palm of your eye

**Author's Note:**

> PART ELEVEN. IF U R NEW, THIS IS NOT THE PLACE FOR U.  
> For everyone else, warnings...what can i say about warnings? There's like fuzzy reference to non-consensual acts and unsafe and inconsiderate sex practices, but consent is like super thoroughly discussed. Um *hugs*
> 
> also i want to thank everyone for all the handholding that enabled me to write this chapter and like the massive patience <3 y'all are great, cuties!

When Lydia wakes him, Stiles is riding on a wave of contentment. 

“I’m going to drive you home now, okay?” she says. “We’ll talk about what I came up with later.”

He just sort of nods, fingers a little clumsy as he pulls his shoes back on. His mind is a buzzing blank, too fresh from sleep to really form thoughts, so he lets Lydia herd him to her car, buckles up out of habit.

It’s early evening, the sky just starting to turn in the east. They drive past these houses with their lights on, houses with normal people inside, or maybe they’re just _people_. It’s not like he _knew_ his world was abnormal before everything with Rafa. Sure, he’d been the kid with the dead mom, but part of him still thinks she’s going to reappear, apologize for being gone so long. And sometimes, it’s like she’s still there. He doesn’t feel abnormal about it. He just feels like him. Maybe these people just feel like them, too. Maybe they all have something missing.

“We’re here,” Lydia says. They’ve stopped. He’s staring out the window at his own house and it’s like he’s seeing it the way strangers do for a moment. It feels unfamiliar. 

“Thanks,” he tells her. “I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess.”

She nods, agrees, “Tomorrow.”

His legs are a little stiff when he gets out of the car. The lights inside are on and the cruiser’s in the driveway, so he knows his dad is home. He’s not ready, really, but he’ll see what happens. His only option is to get through it, and he will. 

“Good,” his dad says, sticking his head out of the kitchen as Stiles shuts the front door behind him. “I was just about to call you to get your ass home. Dinner’ll be ready in a few.”

“Sounds good,” Stiles says. He sits in his usual chair, watches his dad pour pasta sauce into a pot, stir. 

“Derek’s going to be _fine_ , by the way. You probably heard from Scott, but he’s being released tomorrow. Agent _McCall_ ,” he says with a sneer, “got a little rough during the interrogation. When I got out of there, it sounded like they were going to discard most of the tapes because of _leading questions_.” His dad snorts. “Derek did good, though. He stayed calm, he answered the questions they gave him. I don’t think anyone particularly likes him for it. I think they’ve got another lead, but I’m not sure what it is. But Derek’s fine.” 

“Cool. Awesome. He’s coming home tomorrow?”

His dad heaves a sigh. “I’m not going to be able to convince you to stay away, am I?”

“ _Probably_ not, no,” Stiles says with a smile. 

“I figured as much,” he says, stirring the pasta. “It’s fine, I guess. I had a talk with him. He knows what’s what. He’s a decent kid.” 

That reminds him of Scott’s texts, and he can’t help but ask, “What did you say to him? Should I be embarrassed?”

“I just told him that if you can’t do something with the lights on, you probably shouldn’t be doing it at all.” His dad shrugs. “And that you should be going 50-50 on protection. Which, by the way, is coming out of your video game budget. And I am _not_ buying anything for you. I don’t need those sorts of questions at the checkout.”

“I would give anything to not be having this conversation right now,” Stiles tells him honestly. 

“Good, that means you’ll pay attention. By the way, I expect at least one person’s foot to be touching the floor at all times when I’m home. _All_ clothing on. I _will_ knock, but I’m only giving you fifteen seconds after that. If I see something I don’t want to see, we’re negotiating your closed-door privileges. Got it?”

“ _Loud and clear_ ,” Stiles says, his head dropping to his arms on the table. “A little _too_ clear.” 

“Great. Now come get a plate. It’s dinner.” 

They eat in the living room, in front of the TV. Stiles manages about half of his spaghetti, but he’s tired, so he checks out, cleans up and goes to bed. 

It’s been a horribly long few days, and his bones feel watery and loose. His dad left his bedding on his mattress, so he has to make his bed, and he feels _wrong_ in here. It feels like there’s something lurking in the dark, so he double checks the closet and his window, leaves a couple lights on when he finally curls up in bed. 

He’s thankful for Lydia now, for suggesting the pills, because he knows that if he were lying away now normally, he wouldn’t sleep for a long, long time. As it is, he just kind of figures that what’ll happen will happen, that staring, wide-eyed, at the ceiling won’t keep him any safer. He curls up tight under his comforter, presses his face into his pillow, and wishes quietly that he weren’t alone.

 

There’s a harsh buzzing sound, his phone, he realizes, and digs it out from under his pillow. 

It’s not a number he wants to see, not right now, but he’s worried about what’ll happen if he doesn’t answer. It’s late, really late, and his dad is almost definitely asleep anyway.

“What do you want?” Stiles answers, looking around his room instinctively. 

“ _Aw, did I wake you up?_ ” Rafa asks, and Stiles pulls his comforter tighter over his shoulders. 

“Yeah, you fucking did, so make it fast. I have school tomorrow.”

“ _I know. Lacrosse too, right? I know you’ll be thinking of me, kiddo_.” His voice makes Stiles want to punch something or go crawl into bed with his dad like he used to when he was young and had nightmares. “ _Look, I know you have a better lead on Peter Hale than I do. Find him for me. Ask your little friends or whatever. Just let me know when you do._ ”

“I will,” Stiles says, if only because this could actually be _good_. He’ll have to talk to Lydia about it. 

“ _Good boy. I’ll let you go back to sleep. Dream of me._ ”

The thing is, Stiles does.

His dreams are a little blurry, but they grow sharper with each new chunk.

When he wakes for good, half an hour before his alarm, he remembers trying to crawl under the roots of a tree to hide from a murder of crows flying overhead, remembers finding something in that dark, airless place, a body, he thinks, and it changes each time he looks at it, melting between people he knows, and Rafa’s voice in the dark, falling in on him.

And then he’s awake and panting, shirt soaked in sweat. There’s light in his room, a little from the window and from the lamps he left on, but he feels like he can’t see his room. He throws his covers off and heads to the bathroom, gets the shower running just shy of too hot, drops his clothes on the floor. 

Out of habit and to calm down, really, he jerks off fast in the shower. He lets himself vaguely think about Derek, but it’s more about getting off than getting a good fantasy going. A means to an end. After, he feels a little better, a little more calm and clear of mind. 

He has school today. He’s going to go to school and be a normal person. He’s going to see Scott and they’re probably going to talk about Derek being arrested or whatever and Stiles is going to be totally normal when Scott inevitably brings up his dad. He’s going to be totally fine. It’s just a normal day. His friends are supernatural creatures and it’s a normal day. He’s just the ambiguously virginal comedic relief to their main drama. He just has to keep it all behind the scenes.

 

It’s not that hard. He’s kind of used to it, really. Walk tall, smile, make a few jokes about conjugal visits and kinky prison roleplay. He catches Lydia’s approving look, like she’s at once proud of him for being normal and wondering just how long he’s been doing this for. Like he’s _too_ good. 

He might be.

Truth be told, he wants Scott to sit him down and say, _Dude, you’re not okay, are you?_ But he fears it, too. Because Scott doesn’t need to worry about this. He doesn’t need to know just how bad it is. Stiles can _protect_ him. 

In third period, his dad texts him that they’ve let Derek go, that he’s fine, that after some more questioning this morning, they’re trying to find Peter. 

Stiles texts Lydia about that, just to let her know, because it’s more dangerous to find someone the police are looking for, too. He deletes the text from his phone immediately afterwards. No such thing as too careful, not with what they’re apparently planning. 

Now, in his defense, Stiles actually _does_ consider staying at school the full day. He thinks really hard about it for all of fourth period, but who’s he kidding? He knows what he’s going to do. 

When Stiles tells Scott in the hallway before lunch that he’s heading out, Scott grabs his shoulder and says, very seriously, “I know you want to get the D, but you don’t want to get more than one, if you know what I mean. It’s not worth your GPA.”

“Don’t you know, buddy?” Stiles says with a lopsided grin. “I won’t let anything get between me and the A.” He throws a wink at Scott’s considering smirk before heading out, stealth-walking through the parking lot to his Jeep. 

 

“What are you doing here? You have school,” Derek says when he opens the door. He doesn’t move out of the doorway. 

“I can’t fail _lunch_ , dude. Calm down. I just wanted to see you.”

Derek looks at him, and Stiles can feel his resolve crumble the second before he lets Stiles in. 

He looks tired. His place is a little bit of a mess and, looking around, Stiles gets a little nervous for him.

“They didn’t really search your place, right? They didn’t go all CSI on it? Because I have a feeling that would be bad. Really bad.” He doesn’t say because the concrete is still a little off-color where Boyd was killed, or that he heard from Lydia that Kali was killed here too, that Derek must have dealt with the body before he left, even though it wasn’t his responsibility. He doesn’t ask if he buried Boyd and Erica with Laura, either, or if Isaac helped because he knows how to dig a proper grave, doesn’t ask if he buried Kali, if there’s any special werewolf burial rituals. They’re a long way from being able to talk about death like that. It’s all too fresh still.

“I’m okay,” Derek says. “I didn’t say anything stupid, are you proud?” He says it with an edge of sarcasm, but his sarcasm never quite reaches his face when he doesn’t mean it. 

“I am. I’m glad. I worried about you.” 

Derek shrugs. “It’s not the first time I’ve been in that interrogation room.” The corner of his mouth lifts, and Stiles rolls his eyes.

“It was _one time_ ,” Stiles complains. “I only got you arrested the _once_. You gotta let it go, man.”

“I’m just messing with you.” It comes out like an awkward gesture, like a hand messing up his hair, a bouncing leg. Stiles _knows_ that, and Derek knows he knows, but he’s filling the space between them, and Stiles _knows_ they need to talk. Derek’s pushing it off a little, and Stiles gets it, he does, because there’s a million reasons to. But they need to get it out there.

“I’m not going back to him, you know,” Stiles says. “I’m not doing that again. You don’t have to worry about it. It’s done.”

“Does _he_ know that?”

Stiles shrugs. “It doesn’t fucking matter because it’s _not happening_. I’m done. I shouldn’t have been doing it in the first place. It was stupid. I shouldn’t have thought I could handle him.” 

“You’re a _kid_. You didn’t have to know you couldn’t. It wasn’t your responsibility.” He sighs, shoves his hands in his pockets. “What happened the other night….”

“I’d rather live my life never knowing than have to remember,” Stiles tells him quickly. “And I’m not a kid. Not anymore.” 

“Yeah, you kind of _are_ ,” Derek says. “You’re still too young.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Too young for what? For what happened? Or for you? Because I _know_ you’re not feeding me that shit.” 

“That’s not _…_ ” Derek makes a pissed off noise, shakes his head. “In your room, you didn’t tell him to stop. You’ve _said_ you end up sleeping with him when you don’t want to—”

“What are you—”

“I’m not _saying_ that, I just...your track record for saying no to things you don’t want to do isn’t great. And I can’t do _this_ , whatever this is, if I can’t be sure you’ll tell me no when you mean it.” 

Stiles shakes his head, touches Derek’s arm lightly. “I _would_ say no to you because I trust you to stop when I say it.” 

“ _Promise me_ ,” Derek tells him. 

“I promise, okay?” Stiles asks, stroking his arm from wrist to elbow. “I promise.”

Derek nods, eyes searching his face for the lie he can’t be hearing, and touches his shoulder. His thumb runs over Stiles’ collarbone, makes him shiver with goosebumps. 

“What do you want from me?” Derek asks after a moment. His eyes brush over Stiles’ exposed skin, his neck and jaw, his temples, the curve of his ears, his throat. 

Stiles shrugs, looking at him because he can’t look away, says, “I just want you to love me.” It’s probably the most honest thing he’s ever said, _will_ ever say. He feels empty without the words nestled inside of him. 

“I can do that.” Derek nods once, then again and doesn’t really stop until Stiles touches his face, pins him like a bird in a narrow cage. 

Stiles moves in slow, checking his eyes for permission before kissing him. It’s weird, almost, unfamiliar, because Derek doesn’t do anything at first. He just sort of lets Stiles kiss him. Gently, closed mouth to closed mouth, nose to nose, chest to chest. There’s no pressure, no surprises, and that’s nice, actually. He’s not sure he’s ever actually initiated a kiss before. It’s a good thing to do. It makes him want to purr a little. 

Derek does kiss him back, though. When Stiles draws back a little, he follows with his mouth. Soft. His hand cups the back of Stiles’ neck and he’s full of these light little kisses that make Stiles buzz down to the soles of his shoes. The scruff on his upper lip and chin is almost long enough that it’s soft when it rubs against Stiles’ skin. 

But it’s going to Stiles’ head, makes it swim with longing and a strange sort of desire. Strange enough that he doesn’t quite place it for what it is at first, because there’s no guilt or shame in it. 

Stiles butts his nose against Derek’s, cradling his jaw in half-numb fingers. “What are we okay with doing here?” he asks, just so he can have boundaries. 

“Don’t you have to go back to school?” He sounds sorry about it, but says it like it’s important.

“I think it’s about time I took a mental health day,” Stiles tells him. “I wasn’t really planning on going back by the time lunch is over.”

“I don’t want you cutting class for me,” Derek says. 

“I’m not.” Stiles pulls back a little to look him in the eyes without going cross-eyed. “I’m doing it for me. I’m pretty sure if I told anyone everything that’s happened this weekend, they’d let it slide.” 

Derek holds his gaze, wetting his lips like he’s nervous. “What do you want, then?” His thumb traces the base of Stiles’ hairline from behind his ear all the way around to the nape of his neck, his other hand wrapped around Stiles’ forearm like he’s trying to keep his hand in place without being pushy about it. 

“I don’t really know,” Stiles says. “Maybe we could just make out a little, see where it goes?”

“Is this— What does that mean? I just don’t want to do anything without talking about it first. I don’t want to mess this up by going into it too fast.”

Stiles smiles at him because he can _feel_ that Derek wants to do this right, and he does too, it’s just that it’s uncomfortable. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to want right now. What the normal thing is. Because he’d like to do a lot of things for and with Derek in general, and he wants to _show_ Derek how he feels, what he means to him, because it seems easier than telling him outright. 

But he’s not sure what normal people do. What people with normal relationships do. 

“I don’t know what’s okay,” Stiles settles on. 

“Whatever you’re comfortable with. Whatever that is. We can just sit together for a while, if you want.”

Stiles bites the inside of his cheek for a moment glancing at the couch. “I mean, I wouldn’t _mind_ that,” he says, “but I want more. I want to touch you. A lot. Is that okay? I don’t even— If you don’t want to, we don’t have to or anything. I just want to. And I don’t know if that’s, like, a slutty thing or whatever, so you’ve gotta let me know because I’m kind of driving blind here.”

“It’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to do things, I just…” Derek frowns at him, mouth pinched together. “I just don’t want you to think you _have_ to want to do things. Anything. With me. Or because of me.”

“I’m attracted to you. I want to be close to you.” He shrugs. “That’s all there is to it.”

Derek nods. “Then what do you want to do?”

Stiles has to think about it, really. 

Because in a purely sexual way, there’s a lot of things he’d like to do to Derek. Or with him. It’s not like that’s in question. It’s more about where to _start_. And really, he’s not sure what he’s okay with. He doesn’t want to think of his body in terms of a place someone else has been, but he’s not sure he wants Derek traveling those same paths. Derek’s different, and he knows that, it’s not up for debate, but, like, imagining getting fucked? That makes him feel kind of weird. He’s not _quite_ there yet. He doesn’t want to accidentally forget it’s Derek.

“I’d like to touch you,” Stiles tells him. “And maybe look at you, if that’s alright.”

“Yeah, that’s alright. Where do you want to…?”

Stiles looks around, says, “Your bed’s probably the most comfortable place. If that’s cool.” 

It’s fucking _weird_ is what it is, but he’s kind of excited, really. With Rafa, it wasn’t so much about enjoying someone else’s body, more about Rafa enjoying _his_ , and Stiles hasn’t really gotten to just _touch_ someone. For the hell of it. 

Derek stands there, at the foot of his bed, looking over his shoulder with open eyes and an open mouth like a slow-mo indie movie reunion. His hands hang at his sides, curled with a strain that suggests readiness. He’s familiar in what he is and unfamiliar in the guarantee of how Stiles will see him differently after. Not a bad different, just zoomed-in. 

“What can I do?” Stiles asks, the pads of his fingertips buzzing. 

“Anything you want. I trust you.” 

Stiles moves to him, touches the hem of his shirt, close enough to his skin to feel warmth. “Can I?”

Derek nods, reaches behind his head to pull the shirt off, but he lets Stiles help him with it. When it hits the floor, he holds out his hands with his palms up. Waiting. 

It’s clear enough permission, so Stiles starts slow, rubs his fingers over the bony bump of Derek’s wrist, traces up the ridge of muscle to his elbow. The little dip and the hard point of bone, the soft covering of hair and the spots with none. And then up, the hard-soft curves of bicep and tricep to the dome of Derek’s shoulder, smooth and almost pale. He traces the shape with his fingers first, but somehow that turns into his mouth and the faint trace of soap over the particular taste of skin. His hands slide in the imagined grooves of Derek’s ribs, feeling him breathing slow as the muscle dips and rise under his mouth, heading towards Derek’s neck. 

One hand runs up and down the valley of Derek’s sternum with two fingers while the other maps out shoulder blade and spine, learning natural warmth of his skin. Stiles brushes his lips against the line where Derek’s beard starts, feels his breath jerk under his mouth. Going by that, he likes it when Stiles bumps his nose under the line of his jaw to the hinge. It scrapes just a little, more novel than painful. 

Derek lets out a little sigh when he continues to the soft patch of skin right behind his ear, where the cords of his neck meet his skull, just before his hairline. His hair is soft, a little damp, from a shower, probably, because Stiles can smell shampoo when he inhales, sweet and clean.

Stiles pulls back, thumbs fitting neatly under Derek’s pecs. “Is it cool if we make this horizontal?” he asks. 

Derek nods, and he _means_ to watch his eyes, but he finds himself following the arch of his brows around to his cheekbones to the sharp point of his nose, the angular curve of his nostrils down to his mouth, his lips a little wet like he’s licked them. 

So it’s a second before they move, before Derek sits at the edge of the bed, hesitating for a second before lying all the way back. He makes room for Stiles when he nears, between his knees. Stiles can’t really help but follow the dark denim v of his legs inward, sees that his bulge is a little more pronounced than usual. He kind of wants to do something about that, but not yet. Not until he finds whatever he’s looking for on Derek’s body. 

He stares a little, bracing himself with hands on either side of Derek’s ribcage, and that’s enough to convince him that it’s not a visual thing. Derek’s body is beautiful in that it’s Derek’s, and it’s not unfamiliar like he’d worried about. Stiles has seen and felt it probably a hundred times. There aren’t any surprises under the surface of his skin. 

It might be touch. It doesn’t seem like it at first, but then he kneels between Derek’s legs and trails his fingertips down his ribs to his hips, watching his stomach jump with the effort to stay still, and maybe there it is. Not so much the touch but the quality of touch. It’s the gentleness that’s unfamiliar. Stiles has felt it through Derek’s hands on his own body, but it’s different like this. With Derek still and open to his hands. Hands that tap and drum and whisper instead of pressing dents, too light for a casual hold. 

Derek doesn’t say anything when Stiles climbs up him, knees settled at the very, very slight concave of his waist. After a close pause for Derek to refuse him, he leans down the last couple inches to kiss him on the mouth, slack and unhurried. Derek nudges up his chin a little so Stiles doesn’t have to angle his neck as much, and it’s just a simple, warm press of mouth to mouth for a while. Until Stiles decides he wants a little more, adjusts a little, forearms bracketing Derek’s head, and lets himself actually _settle_. 

It almost doesn’t feel like a new thing. In a lot of ways, kissing is on the near side of the lines they’ve crossed with each other. It doesn’t have to be a particularly serious thing, but Stiles doesn’t have a particularly normal track record for kissing. Rafa, Heather, Lydia. 

Derek’s the first one he _knows_ , right here right now, is going to be a part of his future. He’s not going to make the jump to forever or anything, but it’s definitely a prelude to something more. 

Stiles goes for it, mouth open, and Derek meets him. The first brush of tongue makes something jump in his chest, mostly because he isn’t expecting it. Even though Stiles is the one that makes it happen. Maybe that’s what surprises him more than anything else. Or maybe it’s that it feels _good_. He’s not afraid of anything.

The thought makes him smile, and Derek huffs a little, warm on his upper lip. His arms wrap around Stiles’ waist, forearms crossing over his back, and _there we go_. 

Maybe that’s what he was waiting for — Derek touching him back. Maybe he’s still not 100% sold on Derek wanting him too, on all of this being more than something in his head. But Derek has a self-sacrificing streak a mile wide and Stiles isn’t convinced that, if he thought it would help him, he might go along with all of this. 

To be honest, he’s only mostly convinced now. He gets someone wanting to fuck him. That’s easy. And he gets someone caring about him because people _do_ , but the thing is, those two don’t really coincide where he’s concerned. 

Derek’s the one who breaks the kiss, eyes dark and confused. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Stiles says, moving back in until Derek stops him. 

“Am I supposed to buy that?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “ _Yeah_ , actually.” Derek’s not impressed. “I just— Why are you doing this? _Seriously_.”

“Stiles…” Derek runs a thumb across his cheekbone, shaking his head. “Because I— I feel for you. More than I know how to tell you. I’ll do whatever I can to give you anything you need.” 

“But that’s not _fair_ ,” Stiles tells him, sitting up. Derek wiggles a little, shifting him off his stomach as he says, “You do all this shit for me and it’s not fair. To you, I mean. You shouldn’t have to…” he gestures half-heartedly between them “ _whatever_ just because I want to. I don’t even know what you _want_.” 

“I want to be with you. I _don’t_ want you to try anything you’re not ready for just because I want to.”

Stiles narrows his eyes. “Is that the classy way of saying you want to fuck but you think I’m too, what? Emotionally damaged? Traumatized?” 

“It’s not about _fucking_ ,” Derek says with a sharp sigh. “It’s not just fucking. And I don’t want to do anything until you’re ready.” Stiles rolls his eyes, making a face. “What, is it really so wrong that I want this to be about _us_? That I only want you to be thinking about me? That I don’t want you to even be able to remember who he is?” 

Looking at him, Stiles slumps because _oh_. 

“Really?” he asks. “I mean, that’s why you— Okay. I mean, _yeah_. Well, no, really, because you don’t have to worry about that. We’re good, you— You make my head feel like a safe place.” 

Derek’s mouth curves a little, half a smile, and he just sort of _stares_. And he’s always had a pretty killer intense stare, but _this_ , this is almost terrifyingly warm, almost enough to hurt a little. Stiles can’t really bear to be on the receiving end of it, so he kisses Derek instead of looking at him. 

It’s a good idea, as it turns out, because Derek’s hand moves to the back of his neck, keeps him close. Stiles just sort of stretches out on top of him, kisses him long and slow. They’ve got hours and hours, really, so there’s no rush. Stiles can experiment a little, figure out what Derek likes, figure out what _he_ likes. He knows he likes how it feels when he drags his tingling mouth to Derek’s cheek, likes how it hurts but doesn’t. Derek seems to be pretty into it when Stiles nips at his lower lip. His arms tighten around Stiles for a second when he does it and he kind of shudders. He gets his revenge by sucking at Stiles’ tongue, making his stomach burn hot and molten, sink low like it’s trying to melt into his feet. 

For some reason, Derek’s hands stay at the middle of his back or higher. While Stiles might have appreciated it at first, it kind of feels like Derek’s holding out on him, so he moves Derek’s hands lower, just under his t-shirt. They burn against the small of his back. It seems to spook Derek a little at first, but he presses in against Stiles’ mouth, moves down to his jaw and throat where he _sucks_. Stiles groans a little too loudly, clutches at Derek shoulder because _fuck_ , yeah, that’s a good thing. And it’s a good thing he doesn’t have to worry about his knees buckling. 

“You’re going to leave a huge-ass hickey, aren’t you?” Stiles asks, shutting his eyes when he feels the hot, wet swipe of Derek’s tongue. 

Derek releases him with a little _pop_. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Oh my God, don’t _stop_ ,” Stiles tells him. “That was not me complaining. That was me getting a little inappropriately excited. I feel like such a teenager, _God_.”

“You _are_ a teenager,” Derek says before tracing patterns on his neck with the point of his tongue. 

Stiles doesn’t reply to that, partially because anything he has to say involves referencing the fact that Derek is who-knows-how-much older than him, and partially because Derek’s mouth is a beautiful, beautiful thing. His whole body’s going hot and he’s starting to think that maybe wearing clothes for this was a terrible idea, but he can’t get his shirt off without sacrificing Derek’s mouth, so he moves between the warm sweep of Derek’s hands across his bare back and his body. _That_ feels good, a little too good, but the idea of pretty much humping Derek’s stomach makes him feel pretty pathetic.

It gets to be too much, though, so he pushes himself up, breathes. Derek’s eyes dart from the half-heaving of his chest up to his eyes and mouth. His eyebrows quirk up. 

“Gimme a second,” Stiles says, sitting back a little. 

Derek presses his mouth tight when he moves, looking up above his head, and Stiles smiles to himself. It’s not like he can’t feel that Derek’s hard, and he feels a little bad for teasing, but he’s thinking about doing more than that. 

“Don’t freak out,” Stiles tells him as he slides off his body onto the floor. His legs are a little shaky, but it’s not enough to worry about, so he pulls his shirt over his head. Derek props himself up on his elbows, watching in a way that doesn’t feel like he expects anything. Just like he’s waiting for Stiles to finish up and come back. He will, but first, he drops his jeans, kicks them behind him and away. 

“Do you want me to jerk you off?” Derek asks. His eyes slip down to the front of Stiles’ briefs. Stiles’ eyes follow and yeah, you can tell he’s _interested_ , but it’s not really a pressing thing right now.

“Can I do you instead?”

That catches Derek for a moment, but he nods. “If that’s what you want, go ahead. But you don’t have to.”

“I know, but I want to,” he tells Derek, moving in to open up his jeans. He pauses for a moment before undoing the button, though. His fingers are drawn to the ridge of Derek’s cock under the taut fabric. When Derek’s hips jerk a little, his eyes dart up. Derek’s lower lip is between his teeth and he’s watching like he can’t look away. Stiles stares back for a moment, fingers moving aimlessly, then drags them a little harder all the way to the tip. The shaky breath Derek lets out makes him want to do it again, but he’d like to actually _see_ Derek’s junk sometime this century. 

He checks Derek for an okay before unbuttoning his pants, tugging down the zipper gently, and hooking his fingers into the waistband to pull his jeans down.

It’s fucking _hard_.

Derek has to lift his hips in a stupidly distracting way, do a little shimmy to help, and it’s _still_ a labor. And it’s not like Stiles is going to just leave them halfway down his thighs to deal with later, because later, he’ll probably have even _less_ patience, so he might as well deal with them now. 

They might be sentient. Sentient and in love with Derek’s legs.

Stiles can’t really _blame_ them, but still. _Still_.

“I’m going to fucking burn _all_ of your jeans,” Stiles says when finally getting Derek free lands him flat on his ass. Derek snorts and Stiles glares at him as he gets up. “You think I’m joking but I’m not. You’re only going to be wearing sweatpants from now on, so help me God. That should not have been so difficult. I mean, they _look_ beautiful, but at what cost?”

“Those are my tightest,” Derek tells him with half a grin. “Don’t worry about it. You’ll have plenty of time to wage war against my wardrobe later.”

Stiles smirks, edging in between Derek’s legs so he has to spread them further. “Getting a little antsy, are we?”

“I’m not saying you—”

“ _Relax_. I like it. And believe it or not, it’s not my life’s mission to give you blue balls.” He lifts his knee up to the bed, rubbing softly against the not-yet-blue balls in question, smiles when Derek lets out a rush of breath, tilting his hips up and grinding into it a little. 

It’s fucking _hot_ is what it is. There’s something about Derek being turned on that makes his head spin with want. Something about the idea of getting him off that makes Stiles’ fingers numb and twitchy with desire. Making Derek come might have just shot to the top of his list of priorities. Possibly. Right now.

“If I don’t get you out of these, I think I’m going to die,” Stiles says, fingers playing with the waistband of Derek’s boxer-briefs. 

Derek nods, pushing his shoulders into the mattress as he shoves them down off his hips. Stiles helps and it’s probably a lot of hands for something so simple but he can’t _not_ help. Somewhere in that, he finds himself on his knees between Derek’s legs and it’s a beautiful place to be, judging by the view. Derek’s dick is dripping a little on his stomach, the head gone dark. Stiles’ first instinct is to lick, which is maybe a mistake, considering that Derek jerks back like he’s been shocked. 

“You really don’t have to do that,” Derek says quickly, twisting like he’s not sure if he wants to move away or not. 

Stiles pulls back, hands on Derek’s thighs. “I want to. I want to make you feel good, okay?”

Derek nods once, eyes a little wide, and Stiles spits in his palm. Really, he doesn’t feel up to a full blowie anyway, but the idea of jerking Derek off nice and slow is _devastating_. 

His grip isn’t too tight or too loose, just getting a feel for how Derek’s cock functions as an extension of his body. He twists a little at the top of his stroke and Derek fists the sheets. The muscles in his thighs twitch with the effort of staying still. 

“That’s pretty impressive,” Stiles tells him. “How long do you think you could hold back until you try to fuck my fist?” Derek doesn’t say anything, but that might be because Stiles is using his second hand to rub his thumb up and down Derek’s frenulum, sticky-slick with precome. “You ever try edging? I did it once and _shit_ , I think every version of me in the multiverse came at once. I’d love to see you come like that sometime.” 

Stiles is maybe humping the edge of the bed a little because _that_ mental image is too much for mere mortals and he wants ten thousand things all at once.

“Fuck, I gotta touch you all over,” Stiles says, getting up. He pauses, though, asks, “Is that cool?” 

“Yeah, you can— You can do that.”

For a moment, Stiles stands there, trying to figure out whether to keep his underwear on or not. It doesn’t take a lot of deliberation, really, because looking down at Derek’s naked body makes _him_ want to be naked, so. Decision made, really. 

Derek’s eyes skip over his body like a smooth stone, not sure where to look. 

“You can look at me, you know. I want you to,” Stiles tells him as he climbs onto the bed, straddles him. Derek nods, and for just a second, Stiles thinks of the other times Derek’s seen him naked but pushes it away as quickly as it comes up. He focuses instead on settling over Derek’s body in a good way, close enough to kiss, the warm line of Derek’s cock notched against his hip. 

Derek’s breath moves through him heavily as his hands come up Stiles’ back, kissing the corner of his mouth. It takes a second for Stiles to find a good position for his lower body. He ends up basically sprawled across Derek with his knees spread wide on either side of him so he can move, can grind against Derek’s stomach with ease. 

These little noises are given to him through his mouth, little huffs and sighs, groans that come from deeper in Derek’s chest, deep enough that he can feel them through his ribs. Stiles gets it, he does, because he’s doing little more than shamelessly humping Derek and _damn_. They should do this all the time. He says as much, and Derek snorts against his cheek. 

It’s nice, and because Stiles is on top, he can keep it slow, make it last. He’d like it to last. 

Derek’s a little reserved, though, toeing the line between respectful and passive. That’s not really doing it for Stiles, so he moves Derek’s hands from his waist to his ass, tries to show him what he wants. But Derek is Derek and stops kissing him, presses their foreheads together. 

“You’re sure?” 

“Derek,” he says heavily, rolling his eyes, “just touch my fucking butt already.”

There’s a moment where he can feel Derek making a face at him, but then his hands squeeze Stiles’ ass, pull him against his body. The friction makes Stiles groan, head falling down to Derek’s shoulder. Derek moves him. They get a rhythm going that makes Stiles’ skin feel stretched and sensitive, makes him acutely aware of the hot shapes of Derek’s hands on his ass. It makes him itch a little, crave more, but he’s not sure if he’ll be able to get Derek to go for it.

So instead of saying anything just yet, he bites at the hinge of Derek’s jaw. Kisses his lips raw against Derek’s cheek, drunk on the sound of him panting in time with the way he’s moving Stiles’ hips. 

Their bodies slick enough with sweat and precome that they slide a little, Stiles’ cock moving right against Derek’s. The ridge at the head drags against him so sweetly. It makes him desperate, makes him want to feel Derek’s cock better, more, makes him want it inside of him, and that’s it.

Stiles reaches back, guides Derek’s hand to the crack of his ass. “Get something in me,” he hisses. “Finger me or _something_ , come on. And don’t fucking ask me if I’m sure because I’m _sure_ , okay? Cause I’m really fucking sure.”

For a moment, it looks like Derek’s not going to go with it, but he nods. “Lube. We need lube. Give me a second.” He helps Stiles off him, leaves him sitting there while he heads to the other side of the bed, grabs a bottle of lube off of what’s probably the floor. It’s only about half full, and for a moment, Stiles pictures Derek jerking himself off right here, fucking his hand. The image makes him let out a little noise.

Derek comes back, takes his place again, but he stays sitting up, pausing. “Can I blow you, too?” he asks, soft and reluctant, like he thinks Stiles is going to say no. Stiles stares at him a second, eyes narrowed.

“Wait, is that a _serious_ question?” he asks. “I mean, _yeah_ , you can do that, fuck. What do you want me to do? Please tell me nothing that involves higher brain function because that’s just not a possibility right now.”

“Is on your back okay?” Stiles barely nods before flattening himself out on his back. Maybe it’s a little eager, but _he_ ’s a little eager.

“Seriously, anything is good right now. Basically anything.” 

Derek crawls over him, looking up at him through his lashes. “I’m still going to ask first, you know.” Stiles rolls his eyes. “Deal with it,” he tells Stiles before dropping down to kiss the tops of his thighs. 

Seeing his dick pretty obviously twitch, Stiles tries to work himself backwards from the most recent coach of the Mets. It kind of goes out the window when Derek lifts his leg up onto his shoulder. He presses his lips right at the base of Stiles’ cock, and he almost doesn’t hear the pop of a cap. 

“Shit, dude, I’m making no promises about how long I’m gonna last here,” Stiles says. He looks down, groans, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Seriously, I can’t even look at your face right now. It’s too fucking much.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Derek tells him, his breath sizzling over the head of Stiles’ cock. It’s the only warning before all Stiles can feel is _hot_ and _wet_ , grabbing the sheets next to his hip so he doesn’t rip Derek’s hair out or something. 

“Holy _God_ , that’s—” Derek sucks a little, and his words turn into a high, strained noise. 

His heel is probably digging into Derek’s back too hard, but he can barely even _think_ right now. Suddenly, blow jobs make so much sense. It’s fucking _unreal_.

A wet finger slides against his hole and he’s so fucking relaxed, Derek doesn’t really have to _try_ to get it in. His body just wants in, moves into it, down until he can feel Derek’s knuckles against his ass. That pulls him out of Derek’s mouth a little, so he tilts up, groaning when Derek’s finger twists in him. 

“You better give me more than that,” Stiles pants. He doesn’t risk looking, knows he’ll be fucking done if he does. Derek gives it to him, though, tucks his second finger in so all he can feel is this warm, sweet stretch that he needs more of. Biting his lip, he chases it, rocking up and down between Derek’s fingers and mouth, fucking _close_. His whole body is pulled taut, buzzing with it until there’s a little bit of pressure at his rim, not enough to get inside but just enough to promise that he’ll be filled. 

He doesn’t even have time to warn Derek properly because he’s just _gone_. Groaning at the hot, bursting feeling of Derek’s throat swallowing around the head of his dick, the shuddery ripple of awareness of Derek’s fingers in him. It’s silent, too much for him to make noise, at least until he’s mostly done and Derek’s mouth is moving up and down him, slow. _Then_ , he whimpers a little until he has to fist his hand in Derek’s hair, pull him off. 

“ _Wowie_ ,” Stiles breathes. Derek nuzzles the inside of his thigh and starts to ease his fingers out, but Stiles moves back onto them. “Not yet. I like having you in me.” 

Derek makes a pained noise, shutting his eyes. His thumb gently strokes Stiles’ taint. The sharp angles of his hair make Stiles smile. 

“Real talk, though? I don’t know why people don’t just suck each other off 24/7. I mean, if it feels like _that_?” Stiles whistles. “Either that, or you’re just, like, impressively good and setting impossible-to-beat standards for the rest of the human race. And werewolf race.”

“Was that— Has no one blown you before?” Derek asks, then winces. “Nevermind, I take it back.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Stiles says, not really thinking about it, honestly. “And no, I’ve never…thank you for doing that, I mean.” Derek looks at him, not six inches away from Stiles’ dick, and he wants to die a little. “Sorry, it’s not very cool to thank people for blow jays, is it? I’m really not sure why I did that, I just don’t want you to feel bad about it. Because if I know you, you probably are.”

“I’m just sorry that no one’s done that for you, that’s all,” Derek says, then kisses his knee. He’s painfully gorgeous. He’s always painfully gorgeous.

“You haven’t come yet, have you?”

Derek shakes his head, shrugging with the shoulder Stiles’ thigh isn’t taking up. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it.” He starts to move away, but Stiles holds him in. 

“Just so you know, thanks to the Stiles Stilinski Gallon Challenge, I now know that I can come eight times in an hour.” 

“I’m _not_ going to ask what that is, but I _am_ going to ask what that has to do with anything,” Derek says.

“I’m just saying,” Stiles says, “I would be open to helping you out a little. And if it’s mutually beneficial, you can’t get all pouty about it.” 

Derek’s eyes narrow. “What did you have in mind?” Stiles smirks, rocks down onto his fingers, circles his hips a little. It makes Derek’s eyebrows shoot up, then drop lower than before. “I don’t need that. It’s fine.”

“ _I_ need it,” Stiles says. “I mean, if you _really_ don’t want to do it now, then fine, whatever, but I need to do it sometime. Preferably with you. Just so I can figure out if I really like it or if it’s just…if it’s not something I want to do again.”

“I’m worried that it’s too soon. I want this to be just us. It should only be about us.”

Stiles smiles at him, cards his fingers through his hair. “It is. It’s just you and me. And I want it, I want _you_ , you know that, right? I didn’t ask you to put your fingers in my ass because I thought your hand looked cold, dude. I asked you to because I thought it would feel good and I wanted you to be the one to make me feel it.” 

It’s pretty clear the moment Derek folds. He blinks for a long time, then nods, very small. 

“I want to face you,” he says slowly. “I want to be able to see that you’re here with me. That’s all I ask.” 

That’s not much. _Definitely_ doable. Beyond doable.

“Alright,” Stiles tells him. “I accept your terms. Let’s do this thing!”

One of Derek’s eyebrows quirks up. “Just to be clear, you _can_ say the word ‘sex’, right?”

“Seriously, who are you, Nick Miller?” Stiles asks. “ _Yes_. Sex. Sex sex sex. Now let’s _have_ sex already, come on.”

Derek rolls his eyes, nips at the inside of Stiles’ thigh, mouths all the way back to his cock. His fingers start to move, twisting, rocking into him. They feel comfortable in him. If there were any doubts in his mind that this is something he’s into, they’re all gone. _All_ gone. His dick had been a little curious about the whole idea, but with Derek’s tongue laving over it and the freaking _visual_ , he’s ready to go go go.

“Okay, seriously, you need to get your dick in me _pronto_ ,” Stiles says. “ASAP, man.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Derek tells him. His ring finger nudges against Stiles’ entrance, teasing until he pulls out both of his fingers and presses all three back in. 

“You’re _not_ , I—” He lets out a groan as Derek sucks one of his balls into his mouth, fingers curling in deep. They spread and twist, just glancing off the edge of his prostate too many times for it to be accidental. He moves on to Stiles’ other ball, takes him apart like it’s nothing, like he’s not leaking even though he just came a couple minutes ago. Derek laps it up, though, kisses the head of his dick so sweetly Stiles whimpers a little. 

So Derek wants to take his time. That’s a little frustrating, but it’s kind of nice. Derek’s just paying attention to _him_ right now. Sure, Stiles has no idea how his balls haven’t fallen off or something because _seriously_ , but it’s nice. It’s a hug for his feelings. 

His other leg ends up on Derek’s shoulder, and Stiles is trying to pull him in without thinking about it, even though he’s pretty fucking close already. His mouth wanders, stubble scraping over Stiles’ hipbones and stomach, nose following down his happy trail, like Stiles isn’t burning all the way from the fingers in his ass up to his chest. A good burn, though. It makes his lungs ache a little from trying to drag in full breaths, too keyed up to inhale properly. 

Derek leads him right to the edge and pulls him back, holds him, gasping, while he tries to get ahold of himself. 

“I’m so fucking serious right now, I’m _good_ ,” Stiles pants at him.

“Alright,” Derek says, sliding his fingers out. “You want to be on top?” 

Stiles knows what he’s doing with that, knows he’s trying to give him some control, and he appreciates it for what it is. “Yeah, sure. Let’s do that.” 

“Gimme a second.” Derek goes back to the side of the bed where he keeps the lube, comes back with a condom. Stiles just kind of stares at it for a moment, not really sure how he feels about it.

“Really? I mean, does it feel different?” he asks as Derek tears it open. He stops when he registers that. Takes a deep breath or two. “Are you sure you want to use it?”

“First of all, your father put the fear of God in me, so _yes_. If there were such a thing as extra protection, I’d be using that too. And I’m assuming you don’t really want to clean come out of your ass?” 

“No, I mean, that’s cool, I just…I guess I just got used to it.” He shrugs, and Derek looks pained, but they’re not going to have that talk now. This is just them. “Can I? I mean, I had the last period of health so they were out of bananas by that point. Sue me, but it always looked kind of fun.”

Derek hands him the condom and stretches out a bit, feet on the floor. Feeling young and weirdly inexperienced, Stiles pinches the slippery tip and rolls it on like they showed in that fucking video from the 90s with the uncomfortably phallic vegetables. He can still feel the heat of Derek’s cock through the latex, feel the bump of veins and the beat of his pulse. Derek’s fingertips are pressing into his own thigh and his breath moves his belly slowly. 

“Let’s get this show on the road, huh?” Stiles says, swinging a leg over Derek’s body. Derek reaches out on the bed, grabs the lube and squirts some into his hand. While Stiles kneels above him, watching, he spreads it over his dick and rubs the rest into Stiles’ hole. _That_ ’s a little much, makes him have to drop down onto his hands to hold himself up. 

“Whenever you’re ready,” Derek says gently, tossing the lube away. “And if you’re not, we don’t have to, it’s okay—”

“You drive me fucking crazy, you know that?” Stiles tells him. He lowers himself, not quite sure how he’s gonna make it all happen, really, but Derek touches his thigh with one hand, reaches between them with the other. When Stiles sinks down a little more, he can feel the head of Derek’s cock right against him, a nice sort of pressure, and he lets his weight ease it in. 

It feels _good_. Obviously, thicker and rounder than Derek’s fingers, but his body accepts it. There’s no burn, just this warm, pleased feeling like stretching after a run. The rest of the way is a controlled drop, slowing when he gets to the untouched point where Derek’s fingers couldn’t reach.

There’s something really satisfying about knowing that he’s doing this at his own pace, that it’s all up to him. Derek’s fingers are twisted in the sheets, but he’s not moving, just biting his lip. When Stiles settles all the way, his full weight on Derek’s lap, he sits there for a moment, just feeling the warmth of Derek in him, watching him breathe, the thin sheen of sweat on his chest. 

Stiles touches his hands, watches them relax immediately, uncurl for him. “This was a good idea,” he says, threading their fingers together and moving them up above Derek’s shoulder, leaning over him. 

It changes the angle in his ass, a little less resistance. It makes it easier to move. Just a little at first, a minute rocking of his hips, just learning how it feels to have Derek moving in him. It’s an _easy_ movement. They just kind of slide together, and he can feel the shape of Derek acutely, but it doesn’t really feel like an intrusion. It kind of feels like they’re _meant_ to fit together, and he knows that’s equal parts his boner and his heart talking, but it does. It really fucking does. 

Their hands slide back against Derek’s sheets as Stiles leans down to kiss him. The way he’s moving, it’s more just their mouths brushing against each other than anything else. Derek’s breath is warm against his face, his little whines and groans getting swallowed up between them. 

“You feel so good. _Fuck_ , Stiles, you feel so _good_ ,” Derek pants, and Stiles moves back into him a little harder to hear the slap of their skin. 

“ _God_ , I want you so much, you know that?” He works his hips faster, drunk on the feeling of Derek’ filling him up and the little sounds coming out of his mouth.

“You have me, I— _Shit_ — Yeah, you have me,” Derek tells him. “You’ve always had me.” 

Stiles makes an embarrassing noise at that, resting his forehead against Derek’s. “You’re so fucking good, I don’t even know, fuck, I don’t know where I’d be without you. I don’t _wanna_ know.”

“It doesn’t matter, you’re with me now,” Derek says. He moves into Stiles’ body a little, rolls with him. “Can I touch you? Can I hold you?” 

“Yeah, shit,” Stiles says, sitting back so he can let go of Derek’s hands. He braces himself on his thighs, rocks his body slow, grinding Derek deeper into him. Derek’s hands find his hips and they skim up his ribs and around his back as he sits up, draws Stiles into his arms. 

“I don’t wanna let you go. I never wanna let you go,” Derek says into his neck. Stiles wraps his arms around Derek’s shoulders, shifts his legs around to wrap them around Derek’s waist. 

“Yeah, you’re gonna have a real hard time with that one,” Stiles tells him with a little smile. Derek huffs half a laugh into his skin, pulls Stiles tighter around him. 

They have to move together like this, can’t rely on just one of them for it, and something about that makes Stiles’ head spin in a good way. It feels fucking great, Derek’s cock just barely nudging at his prostate, just enough to make him dizzy-drunk on sensation, and their bodies sliding together in sweat that’ll be gross later but feels good now, lets him rub his cock against Derek’s stomach beautifully. He drags his nails up Derek’s back to hear him whine, to feel him hold him tighter. 

“Fuck, you can pretend I don’t mean it later, but I think I’m fucking in love with you,” Stiles says.

Derek pulls back a little to meet his face, a hand wrapped around the back of his neck. “I hope you mean it, fuck, _I_ mean it.” 

Grinning, Stiles kisses him hard, a little too hard, with too much teeth, but Derek pours himself messily into his mouth anyway. It’s a fucking beautiful, too-good thing until Stiles can’t kiss him back anymore, until he’s getting too close to work his mouth properly, ends up panting against Derek’s lips, grinding against him. 

“I can’t,” he breaks out, “I’m gonna—”

“Good, I wanna see you,” Derek says, pulling back but ducking right back in to press little kisses against his face. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Stiles.”

He scrabbles at Derek’s shoulders when it hits, moving against Derek like he wants to fall inside him, like he’s trying to make a space for himself in his body, and Derek just _lets_ him. Just welcomes him right in, holding him close when he chokes out half a noise, pressing his face against Stiles’ neck. 

Stiles is left a little dizzy when the rush of it fades, but he strokes up and down Derek’s back while he pants against him, coming down. Slow, soothing. Kisses his hair because he _can_.

After a while, Derek’s head comes up and he kisses Stiles deeply, cupping his face with both hands. His taste is half familiar already, and Stiles fucking _loves_ it. Loves how well they know each other, how well they’re _going_ to know each other, loves how comfortable he feels wrapped around him. 

“Can we stay like this forever?” Stiles asks him. “What if I just refused to move and we stayed like this permanently? Because that’s sounding like a _really_ good plan to me.” 

“Mmm, maybe,” Derek says, smiling against Stiles’ cheek. 

Stiles scritches his fingers in his hair. “I’m totally serious, you know. What if we just never get out of bed?”

“Don’t tempt me.” Derek almost kisses him but doesn’t, rubs their noses together instead. He wraps his arms around Stiles again, stroking his back.

“You’re so _cuddly_ , I love it,” Stiles says. 

Derek huffs softly. “ _Shut up_.” 

“I would cuddle you all day if I could, you know.”

“I would let you,” Derek says, and Stiles kisses him for it, just the once, and it feels weird, for a second, that they’re here, now. It feels weird until he reminds himself of where he is, of what it means that Stiles is in his arms right now. And then it just feels _right_ , like this is where he belongs. Where he should be. 

“Holy shit, dude, did we just _make love?_ ” he asks after a second, when it all clicks into place. 

Derek’s still for a second, then shrugs. “Maybe a little bit.” 

“ _Good_ ,” Stiles tells him, “because I think we should do it again in a little while.”

Derek opens his mouth to say something, but he’s cut off by a low growl from Stiles’ stomach.

“Wow, mood killer, much?” Stiles says, not particularly embarrassed. 

“When was the last time you ate?”

Stiles shrugs, thinking about it. “Last night, I guess. Shit. I think I might be hungry.”

“Well,” Derek says with a snort, “why don’t we get you some food, then?” 

“ _Do we have to_?” Stiles whines, grinning. “But actually, yeah, that’s something we should do.” 

“Come _on_. Let’s get up.” Derek taps his hip, smacks a kiss on his nose. “If we don’t go now, I’ll probably fall asleep on you.” 

“ _Fine_.” With a pointed sigh, Stiles unwraps himself, takes a moment to get up, off Derek’s lap, his dick slipping out of him easily. 

Derek heads to the bathroom to deal with the condom while Stiles gathers their clothes up and starts getting dressed. He takes a look at Derek’s jeans, makes a face at them before tossing them to the other side of the room. _Fuck_ those jeans. They may be hot as fuck, but Stiles isn’t going to fuck around with trying to get them off again. 

“You’re gonna need some other pants,” Stiles says when Derek comes back into the room, getting an eye roll. He’s dressed first with his head start, gets to watch Derek pull his shirt over his head a little indulgently. “My feelings towards you and clothes are so complicated. They look so good on, but they look so good _off_ , too.” 

“ _Later_. You need to eat. Come _on_.” He hooks his elbow around Stiles’ neck, pulls him in to kiss the side of his head before leading him out the door. 

 

They end up at In-N-Out, Stiles sprawled in a booth with a couple empty burger wrappers in front of him. He’s not sure he really consciously remembers _eating_ them, but he has an impression of ketchup and _delicious_ and his stomach is full, so that’s something. 

“Is this a date?” he asks, shoving a couple fries in his mouth. “Are we dating? Is that a thing we’re doing?”

“Is that okay?” 

“I’m into it. If you are. I mean, everyone kind of thinks we are, so that would be cool. I just didn’t know if you were feeling weird about ‘labelling’ it.” He uses the scare quotes because he feels like a teenage girl on the CW saying it, but that’s the easiest way to put it. 

“I’d like that,” Derek says, “but that means you owe me brownies.” 

Stiles grins. “ _Greedy_. Did you seduce me for my brownies?” Derek’s smile has a little edge to it, like he’s not quite comfortable finding it funny. “Relax, we can pick you up some Cosmic Brownies on the way home.” 

“Or _school_ ,” Derek corrects. “I believe you’re technically supposed to be in school.”

“God, man, what’s with you and valuing my education? Why can’t you value my body like a normal person?” 

“Don’t talk like that. You’re better than that.” 

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Don’t make a big thing about it. It was a _joke_.” 

“Well, it’s not funny,” Derek says, and when Stiles snorts, “I’m _serious_. I like you, _all_ of you. Don’t belittle yourself.” 

“It’s not— I just wasn’t sure if we were talking about it. The whole…I meant it, what I said. And it’s okay if you didn’t, it’s fine. But I do.” 

Derek squeezes Stiles’ ankle where it’s propped on his knee. “I did. I do. And that’s why I promised your dad I wouldn’t let you skip school for me. You’ve got enough going on. You don’t need to worry about your grades on top of it. And you can come over later, you know. You can come over whenever you want.” 

“ _Fine_ , whatever. I’ll go to my last two periods or whatever. I’ll be a real boy.” It’s fine, he can do it, even though he doesn’t want to, and he feels better, he does, like he’ll be able to look Scott in the eye later. Speaking of… “They’re going to be able to smell you all over me, aren’t they?” He nudges the inside of Derek’s knee with his heel, smiles when Derek’s gaze drops. 

“You think you can win by playing dirty, but it’s not going to work,” Derek says. “Maybe I want them to.”

“Maybe I do too.” 

Derek meets his eyes, dark, holds it until he can’t. “You’re a menace. I can’t take you anywhere, can I?”

“I know _somewhere_ you can take me.”

Rolling his eyes, Derek’s gaze shifts out the window. He’s smiling and it looks _good_ on him, fits his face. It gorgeous and then it drops, his postures stiffens. 

“What’s wrong?”

“We should get out of here,” Derek says, getting up. Stiles looks out the window, sees nothing spectacular, just a black SUV parking… _Wait_. 

He grabs Derek’s wrist, not sure if he’s keeping him from going or holding onto him. 

“That’s him, isn’t it? It’s him.” His suspicion is confirmed when Rafa gets out of the car, shades on. His nose looks a little weird, and when he gets closer, Stiles picks out bandages. “We should go,” Stiles agrees. “We’re going to run into him either way. Might as well get it over with.”

Derek nods, takes care of the trash in the bin right behind them, and when Stiles reaches for him, he takes his hand. Squeezes. 

“I’m here, you know,” Derek says. 

“I know. It’s okay.” 

When Rafa comes inside, he pushes his glasses up, and _shit_. Stiles remembers what Scott said about his face, but there’s a difference between hearing about it and seeing a pair of black eyes. 

The second he spots Stiles and Derek, Stiles _feels_ it. He squeezes Derek’s hand, leans into him.

“Let’s go,” he says. They’re fine here, since Rafa can’t do anything, even though he can _tell_ , Stiles sees that much. Maybe he would’ve preferred for Rafa to not know, would’ve preferred it for Derek’s sake, but he feels safe standing next to him. Stiles tugs at Derek’s hand, towards the door, the one opposite where Rafa came in. 

Rafa stares him down until his eyes move to Derek, and _fuck_. He’s never seen so much open hate before. 

But then they’re out of there, and it doesn’t fucking matter anymore. He’s fine, and he can breathe, and he’s okay. He’s _okay_. It’s all okay. 

They make it to the car before Stiles lets out the breath he’s holding. It’s very still for a moment and Derek’s watching him like he’s a glass about to fall off the counter. Like he wants to catch him before he hits the ground. 

Stiles laughs. 

It falls out of him and he sees Derek stutter over it. It’s not a long laugh, but it’s enough to settle everything in him.

“Are you okay?” Derek asks gently, touching his arm.

“I’m _fine_ ,” Stiles says, grinning. “I just…did _you_ do that? Scott said he thought you might have and _holy shit_ , dude, you fucked him up.” 

Derek’s face is still for a moment, then the corner of his mouth quirks up. “I’m not saying I did. But I’m not saying I didn’t, either.”

Stiles pulls him in by his ears, kisses his smug little smile. “Thank God you’re an asshole. Never change.” 

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Derek tells him, fingers brushing against his chin as he leans in to kiss him right back. 

**Author's Note:**

> u can come find me on tumblr @ majestic-beard
> 
> (btw the gallon challenge, if u r curious, was something v strange and kind of hilarious that i heard about from someone i knew. basically, the aim is to fill a gallon jug in a single day. with jizz. do not ask me why. bc i'm p sure it's just an attempt to make masturbation a challenge.)


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